


make my wish come true (underneath the mistletoe)

by bellamythology (onemanbellarmy)



Series: 'Tis the Season for Bellarke [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Mistletoe, and other seasonally appropriate decorations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:52:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9044795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemanbellarmy/pseuds/bellamythology
Summary: Bellamy glanced over at his sister, then at each of her best friends, opened his mouth and closed it again.Smirking, Raven finished hanging the last of the lights from the curtain rod and raised an eyebrow to show that she’d noticed. “What, Blake? Spit it out.”Octavia half-turned from the kitchen counter where she was cutting paper snowflakes, then grinned. “Yeah, Bell. Do tell, what’s on your mind?”Clarke looked over too, hands halted mid-air in the process of sketching the exact arrangement of window clings that she wanted. She didn’t say anything, but the glint in her eyes egged him on.Even as a kid, Bellamy had never been anything even remotely approaching immune to the combined force of his sister’s and Clarke’s teasing; any resistance he might have developed over the years was woefully inadequate against the addition of Raven’s mischievous amusement.( Clarke, Octavia, and Raven take over Bellamy's apartment to decorate for Christmas. Resistance is futile and he knows it. )





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one's dedicated to the protectbellamynetwork, just because. Love you guys!
> 
> I would apologize for the title, but I think we all know it's the season of cliches and romcoms and over-the-top fluff.

It was the sound of raindrops attacking her window that woke Clarke. She rolled over in bed and squinted at the glow-in-the-dark hands of the analog alarm clock (once her dad’s, it was one of the few things that held enough sentimental value for her not to smash it in the frustration of having to force herself out of bed) on her desk across the room.

She sighed. She and her roommates had been planning to get a head start on holiday shopping today, but their favorite mall — where they _always_ began their quest for presents; it was practically a ritual at this point — was a bit of a drive (a slightly hazardous undertaking in this weather) and none of them would want to haul their purchases through the downpour to the parking lot.

There went that plan.

Of course, they could always stay in and study for finals — because those were a _thing_ that existed and caused them needless misery and stress — but not even Clarke could say that she was excited to spend her day looking at textbooks rather than toys for her kid sister. (The Griffins had adopted Charlotte six years ago; now she was a bright-eyed eight-year-old, beloved by all who met her.) It was a hobby of Clarke’s, browsing store after store to find something worthy of her favorite person in the world, and she wasn’t going to pretend she would rather review Freudian theory.

The very thought had her burrowing back under the covers and squeezing her eyes shut in the hopes that she could fall back to sleep. Or that it would stop raining.

Footsteps sounded outside her door. “Clarke! You up yet?”

“It’s eight-thirty on a Saturday morning, Octavia,” she called back without opening her eyes.

“We made _plans,_ Griffin!”

“Up and at ’em, babe,” Raven chimed in, sounding annoyingly awake. And surprisingly so, considering this was the girl who’d spent months building an alarm clock sturdy enough not to be destroyed in her waking-up rage. ( _Trial and error,_ she’d said, her matter-of-fact tone almost as scary as the sheer quantity of used gears and springs scattered across her bedroom floor.)

She groaned. “Fine. Give me twenty minutes.”

“We’re leaving in twenty-one, with or without you.” But it was an empty threat — exactly the kind of statement that everyone in Octavia’s family was so fond of making — and all of them knew it.

 

Bellamy glanced over at his sister, then at each of her best friends, opened his mouth, and closed it again.

Smirking, Raven finished hanging the last of the lights from the curtain rod — _his_ curtain rod! — and raised an eyebrow to show that she’d noticed. “What, Blake? Spit it out.”

Head cocked in confusion, Octavia half-turned from the kitchen counter — _his_ kitchen counter! — where she was cutting paper snowflakes, then grinned. “Yeah, Bell. Do tell, what’s on your mind?”

Clarke looked over too, hands halted mid-air in the process of sketching the exact arrangement of window clings that she wanted. (On _his_ window!) Even — or perhaps especially — when it came to holiday décor, Clarke spared no efforts and took no prisoners, just as he would have expected if he were being completely honest with himself. She didn’t say anything, but the glint in her eyes egged him on.

Even as a kid, Bellamy had never been anything even remotely approaching immune to the combined force of his sister’s and Clarke’s teasing; any resistance he might have developed over the years was woefully inadequate against the addition of Raven’s mischievous amusement.

He groaned, running a hand through his messy curls. (They’d woken him up when they called ahead to say they were coming to take over his apartment, and he still hadn’t decided whether he was more affectionately exasperated with their enthusiasm, more grateful for the heads-up, or more annoyed that they’d _woken him up._ ) “No, nothing. It’s just,” he began, trying not to smirk, “all this glitter, and scrapbook paper” — “ _origami_ paper!” He passed over Octavia’s interjection, deeming it irrelevant. — “and all this shit —”

“Did you have a point?” Clarke interrupted.

“Well, I originally _had_ one, but —”

Laughing, his sister cut him off by aiming a paper triangle at his face. Since the snowflake had yet to be unfolded, it was as aerodynamic as any paper plane, and it bounced off his cheek. The girls were all laughing, and Bellamy tried not to. (Even if he knew he had no reputation or dignity to speak of when these three were present, he could still pretend, alright? He liked lying to himself, it made life a lot more complicated than it needed to be.)

It was hard, though, when Clarke was still standing by the window. However limited it was on this cloudy day, the natural lighting still illuminated her golden hair and light eyes in a way that was hard to ignore. Not that he ever could ignore her, the brightest thing in any room they inhabited.

After such an insult, Bellamy gave in, committing to the only logical action at this point: he threw up his hands and conceded defeat, letting the too-numerous strong women in his life have their way with his apartment.

 

“See, it actually looks like you  have holiday spirit now!”

Bellamy ignored his sister’s comment, turning to Raven conspiratorially. “You didn’t let them put up mistletoe or anything, did you?”

“Of course not.” She looked offended that he would even consider the possibility, but he caught the way her gaze avoided his.

“ _Reyes._ ”

“Okay, okay, there _might_ be one hanging in the doorway to your room. Blame Clarke.”

“Oh, I will.” He raised his eyebrows at the guilty party, who just smirked. “Can I have a word with you?”

Clarke made a show of thinking this over before nodding and following him out of the living room.

Once they were out of earshot of their friends, she stopped, head cocked in a silent challenge.

Bellamy took just a few steps further to lean against his doorjamb, his own smirk an answering challenge. “You gonna join me?”

“What am I getting out of it?” she teased.

“You’re the one who planted the mistletoe,” he shot back. “Um, pun not intended. I think.”

The way she bit her lip, part amusement and part shyness, was the last straw. Reaching out, he tugged her against him, thumbs brushing across her cheeks.

She’d looped her arms around his neck and was matching his gaze steadily, and that was all the answer he needed to lean down and press his lips against hers.

It was slow, thorough — he would go so far as to call it romantic, but Clarke was giggling when they pulled apart for breath.

“You’re such a drama queen.” He could feel the curve of her smile against his shirt, and his expression probably matched. (He was starting to see why all their friends called them nauseating.) “As if there was ever any doubt that I’d say yes.”

They’d known each other for years, so he understood what she was really saying and responded appropriately: “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to [me](http://bellamythology.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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